Breathing In Mortality
by GNess
Summary: *Updated* The clock ticks on, never stopping...and as it does so, Draco's life dwindles away from him. He cannot live his last days with regrets, and Hermione is a big part of the equation.
1. Fury and Rage

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Breathing In Mortality

01. Fury and Rage

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"I dare you to lift yourself up off the floor

I dare you to move, I dare you to move

Like today never happened

Today never happened before

Maybe redemption is stories to tell

Maybe forgiveness is right where you fell

Where can you go to escape from yourself"

-Switchfoot, "Dare You To Move" / Album: Learning to Breathe

Draco sighed heavily as he beat his feet back and forth against the cold, hard examination table. He hated the doctors office. It was cold, dreary and depressing, to say the least. He would have liked nothing more than to magic himself well and be done with it. You can fix broken bones without going to the doctors…can't really do much for what was wrong with him. If he hadn't had a constant headache and the inability to insult Potter and his Dream Team, he wouldn't have bothered with Dr. Starrmen at all. However, if Draco Malfoy can't insult Harry Potter, there is definitely something wrong.

Draco could hear the old wizard's frail voice mumbling to his mother, who seemed quite calm even though Draco told her he was probably near to his death bed. She may have cared, she may not have. It was hard to tell with her; she was so cold and contrite with her mannerisms and well chosen words, that even Draco, her son, couldn't tell if she even cared at all about him.

He had been depressed for a few months. Even at school and while playing Quidditch, when he's in his element, he couldn't seem to snap himself out of it. His grades were suffering, his reputation was going down the tube and at this rate he wouldn't be able to graduate. Seventh year at Hogwarts is very tough and he needed to "keep his eye on the prize" as his father said. Draco couldn't seem to stay with it.

So, he'd contacted his mother as a last resort and she'd dragged him to his old doctor. Draco wasn't sure why his mother made him go, he speculated it was because he would tarnish the family name if he was ill. It was hard to think optimistically about the evil spectrum of the ying-yang when you, yourself, are not part of it…even when he told himself to give his mother the benefit of the doubt.

Dr. Starrmen, a very old and fragile wizard with a long white beard not unlike Dumbledore's, came into the room with Narcissa Malfoy close behind. She surveyed the room with discontent. It seemed Dr. Starrmen's practice had gone downhill since the last time they were in the room: about fourteen years prior. The furnishing seemed very below Malfoy-Manner's outlandishly priced attributes.

"I'm afraid I have some…bad news," Dr. Starrmen said, sounding very business like.

"Please hurry, if you will. I need to get back to class. I'm missing Potions and if I'm not there to berate Potter, no one will and the world will collapse around us." Narcissa rolled her eyes and patted Draco condescendingly on the knee. He sneered at her in response.

"Do not be rude, Draco," she said, sounding irritated.

Draco snorted, "It's not purposeful, mother. It just comes naturally. It's a side effect of the disease."

"Sadly, it is," stated the doctor, taking a seat on his stool with Draco's rather minuscule file in his lap.

"What do I have?" Draco asked, even though he already seemed to know. He'd been dreading this part because the last thing he needed was for his mother to find out what a playboy he was. On the other hand, word would get back to his father, who would undoubtedly be proud. Draco tensed up in anticipation of the embarrassment to come.

"I won't beat around the bush, then, young Malfoy." He turned to Narcissa, "Draco has an acute and extremely rare version of Snogishtiley* which is commonly known as Snoggington, the snogging disease. However, he's had it since he was quite young. You see, this very rare, and much more deadly version is hereditary. It's only seen every one hundred years or so. It's barely traceable and you wouldn't know it was there unless you specifically looked for it." He paused, probably for effect like in the movies, "Draco's case is very fierce."

Draco stared straight ahead, unable to speak.

"What do you mean, Doctor?" Narcissa asked, seemingly worried.

"I'd say Draco only has a few days to live. Possibly hours. It seems that his condition will just get progressively worse until he…until it ends. Right now, the disease has overtaken about 75% of his body." He looked at them helplessly. Narcissa, in a motherly fashion, took Draco's hand in her own. He was in such shock that he didn't flinch away. "It's untreatable, I'm afraid."

"Untreatable!?" Draco shouted, jumping down from the table. "We're wizards for Merlin's sake! We can treat ANYTHING!"

The doctor cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable, "Unfortunately, Mr. Malfoy, that is not the case. Some things do not have cures, yet, even for us."

"What the fuck?!" Draco demanded, storming around the room, "I can't be ill! I don't even feel differently except for the blasted headache and maybe some slight memory loss!" He whirled around to face the barer of bad news, "You must have diagnosed me incorrectly!"

Dr. Starrmen reddened, "I assure you, I haven't. I did all the tests possible to disprove my theory. I double checked with other doctors. I got second opinions. That's why you've been here so long. Draco, I'm sorry."  
  
"HA! How very…very…dammit!" Draco sighed heavily and dramatically. "I'm not going to die. People who are going to die aren't as healthy as me."  
  
"Healthy people die to," replied the doctor reasonably. Narcissa's eyes were clouding over as she pulled a tissue from her designer bag. "You aren't healthy, Draco. This disease has been in you since you were an infant. You were born with it. It slowly took a percentage of your body for itself every year of your life. You're lucky, in the other cases of this disease the patient only lived to be fifteen. You surpassed it for two years. You held out."  
  
"Why do you say I only have HOURS to live? If it's only taken up 75%." Draco's eyes were flashing with hurt, anger and sadness.  
  
"As it takes over more of your body, it grows more rapidly." The doctor explained calmly, "I'm only guessing you have hours. You may very well have weeks."

"Or months," stated Draco evenly.

The doctor cringed, "Probably not months," he said quietly.

"Isn't there ANYTHING you can do?" Narcissa begged.

Dr. Starrmen stood up, crossing the room to stand away from Draco. "I can contact every wizard doctor in the world. I can contact the scientists who are trying to develop a cure. I will do everything in my power, I promise you. Lucius may also be of help. He has connections that I do not. All I can predict right now is that we may be able to prolong his life…but we cannot save it indefinitely."

Draco lay in his large bed pouring over books upon books containing anything and everything having to do with Snogishitiely. He was not a quitter, he would not give up on himself; not yet. There had to be a way to save himself, there just had to be.

It was all so very confusing and frustrating. It seemed that the more he learned about the disease, the more perplexed he was about it. He knew it was hereditary, but who the hell had had it before him? Who had passed him the gene of death? He was pissed off at his ancestors, a feeling he'd never had before. Draco Malfoy had always been so proud to be a Malfoy. The name demanded respect, power, invincibility.

The name was now a curse. The curse of the dragon.

"DAMN!" Draco hollered, shutting another leather bound book with a snap. He threw it across the room where it flopped to the floor, lifeless. Draco could not wrap his head around the fact that he might die at any moment. He couldn't believe it. He felt fine, normal and healthy. Did this disease just creep up when you least expected it and take your life?

There had to be SOMETHING. He would not, ever, give up hope that there was something out there to save him. Maybe there was something that could trick the disease. Perhaps there was a spell that would give him eternal life. If only stupid Harry Potter hadn't helped get rid of the Sorcerer's Stone. That could have been Draco's saving grace.

This wasn't doing any good. All this thinking did was make him more angry at the world; Harry Potter in particular. It wasn't Harry's fault, he had nothing to do with this.

  
Draco felt helpless, sitting there in his huge manner. The manner had been a source of happiness for him in his childhood. Now it merely haunted him. He wanted out. Now.

Breathing was like a foreign task to him, he couldn't catch his breath, couldn't breathe in the night air. His eyes were watering from the icy air as his lungs tried to fill with oxygen. 

"Oh God," he muttered, slowing his pace, "I'm dying right now. Right here. In the middle of the God-dammed forest." He looked around him, he was completely surrounded by trees. He'd left the manner hours before, heading out into the darkness. He didn't know where he was going, he just knew he had to get somewhere.

It was as if something was calling him; something other worldly. He desperately needed answers, but he couldn't just sit in his room for the remainder of his life, looking through books. That's what that bookworm Hermione Granger would do…

Hermione Granger. Why didn't he think of it before? 

He took his wand from his robe pocket and with a small pop, he was gone.

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*Snogishitiley. Pronounced: snog-ish-it-allee

Don't just assume he's Apparating to Hogwarts because, before you say it, I KNOW there is no Apparating on Hogwart's grounds. 

I'm really liking this so far. I hope this idea hasn't been done before. I've never read it anywhere, but it'd be so cool for me to have something unique. I'm sure it HAS been done before. But oh well. I hope you like it!! There will be more soon.


	2. Pleasantries Go A Long Way

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Breathing In Mortality

02. Pleasantries Go A Long Way

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"I'm stupid, you're smarter

I'm stupid thinking there was a way 

That this could turn out right

I'm dreaming, you woke up

And I should have known from the stare

That you were never right

'Cause if I can make you love me

You're out of reasons to stay

Make it easy on yourself

And don't worry 'bout me

Can't make you feel something you don't"

-PRIME sth, "I'm Stupid" / album: Underneath the Surface

He didn't want to do it. He didn't want to tell anyone; he didn't need their pity when they found out or their smart-ass remarks. He didn't need anybody…but…

He had no choice.

While Narcissa combed the mansion in search of her soon-to-be-gone son, Draco went through the gates at Hogsmeade and cimbed the steps to Hogwarts Castle. He could only assume that the professors knew of his predicament because no one gave him any crap; none of them asked why he was in the halls during classes (he, in turn, didn't ask them what they were doing either, when they should have been in class.)

He'd gotten library books from the most prestigious universities, libraries and wherever else…so what made him think Hogwarts had something to offer his anxious mind?

She was a mere half-witch, she couldn't help him. However, severely desperate times call for ridiculously desperate measures and he knew he needed her help. How to ask for it, was a different question all together. They hadn't been what you'd call "friendly" to one another over the years. Just because he'd stopped calling her that name last year, and she'd stopped showing off her intelligence didn't mean anything had changed between them. They still loathed each other with every inch of being they possessed.

Draco found her in the library when lunch rolled around. He felt no need to eat. Since he's going to die anyway, why bother nourishing the body that had just betrayed him?

He cleared his throat in an attempt to get her attention without drawing everyone else's attention to them. There were only a few other people in the library; all bookworms, like her.

Hermione flipped nonchalantly through a very large book, "If you want something, you can ask politely instead of dancing around over there trying to get ME to ask YOU."

Draco stepped forward, taking the cue she'd tossed him, "I think you just did. However, inadvertently."

She looked up at him finally, her face showing no emotion; she was the master at looking stoic. "What do you want, Malfoy?"

"I have a…hypothetical question to ask you." He took the seat beside her and she closed her book with a snap. "If you have time." He nearly laughed at the irony of that statement.  
  
"I do," she replied slowly, surveying him quizzically, "But why are you being human?"

Draco snorted, "No need to be so pleasant, Granger. Don't bother pretending you like me."

She raised an eyebrow at him, "I'm not pretending I like you; I don't like you."

"It's called sarcasm. Look it up in the dictionary," he replied scathingly.

Hermione nodded, ignoring the bait he'd thrown for her to continue the argument. "You're wasting my time. PLEASE get on with it already, Malfoy." Almost to herself, she added, "I don't even know why I'm bothering with you, it's not like you've ever bothered with me."  
  
"That's not by choice," he said quickly, "Just simply…how life is. You know?"

Slowly, she cocked her head to the side and peered at him as if she'd never seen him before. Blandly, she replied, "Yes. I know." She crossed her arms across the large volume in front of her. "What's the question?"

"Oh," he said, caught off guard. He'd hoped to sidestep the question for a bit longer. He needed to find himself a path to her good side, even though it'd probably kill him in the process. "Well."

Hermione smiled a little, "You're so articulate, Draco."

He laughed, "Yes, well, you know. Malfoys---" He stopped himself and stared at her, "You called me Draco."  
  
"Indeed," Hermione agreed, "I hate saying 'Malfoy.' I detest that name."

"As do I," Draco admitted quietly. "Anyway. I have a medical…hypothetical question."

"I don't know much about medicine. I mean, I do…but I'm hardly a doctor…or a trained professional."  
  
"Since when are you modest?" Draco asked, grinning at her brightly.

Hermione shrugged, "Since today. As long as your question doesn't hinge on keeping someone alive, I can help."

"Thanks," he replied earnestly, "Do you know anything about the disease Snogishitielly? It's very rare and deadly--"  
  
Hermoine's eyes grew wide, "I've read about it. There is one case per one hundred years. It's the rarest of wizard diseases and the most untreatable." She looked at him, hard, "Why?"  
  
"Essay…detention. I got detention the other day and I have to write an essay on the, er, rarest disease there is." Draco cleared his throat, "Is there no way around it? I mean, do the people who have it actually die? Or can you sidestep the disease, you know, trick it? Is there a spell that will give m--someone immortality?"

"You wouldn't think so, would you…being that Voldemort would have had it used by now." She tapped her nose and he nodded, "However, the elixir of life---"  
  
"Is totally destroyed," Draco cut her off, "Bloody hell."

"Well, yes," she replied hesitantly, "But there's still unknown whereabouts on something the Ministry dubbed 'Vervacity' which is, I understand, something like the fountain of youth…only instead of keeping you young, it keeps you alive until you're old enough so that you can die a 'normal' death."

"Is it a tiny pond somewhere out in the wilderness?" Draco asked interestedly, although he was half joking. He was surprised by how he was acting towards her, without any hostility, but he attributed this to the fact that there's no need for her to be his enemy if he's just going to die soon anyway. He seemed to have gotten to another step in the process: acceptance.

Her voice cut into his thoughts, "I'm not sure. The explanation of Vervacity is very short. They didn't go into great detail, probably because they don't want people out searching for it."

Draco was leaning forward now, all his attention on Hermione, "How do they know it exists?"

"About two hundred years ago, someone with a very, extremely fatal case of Snogishitielly claimed to have found it. They weren't sure what it was, so they didn't use it. It could have saved their lives…but they were careful and too cautious. The Ministry couldn't get any information on where it was because the person died before they could say anything other than that they'd found the 'fountain of life'. That's what the person called it. I think he only lived for about twelve years. Probably the Ministry didn't trust someone of that age." Hermione looked at a stack of books at the end of the table. "I could probably find you the book I read about it in, if you'd like."  
  
"Oh, great. That'd be brilliant, thanks." Draco watched as Hermione went to ask the librarian for the key to the Restricted Section. Hermione, being head girl, had free reign of the Restricted Section now. Draco figured that was very wonderful for Potter and Weasley, who always wanted to cause trouble one way or another. 

Hermione hummed to herself as she browsed the rows and rows of leather-bound books with tattered covers. Draco felt a small smile go onto his lips at the sight of her. For some reason he began seeing her, not as a bookworm who acted like she knew everything, but as a girl who was being nice to him even though he didn't deserve it. He'd never done anything to her that would warrant being friendly or civil. He wondered why she was treating him as she was.

"Might as well ask, ya got nothing to lose." Draco mumbled to himself, standing up and following her. "Hermione?"

Hermione spun around, probably not expecting him to use her given name. She looked back at the books, running her fingers along their spines, "Yeah."

"Why are you being nice to me?" He asked her seriously, leaning against a bookcase.

She sighed heavily and turned towards him, her eyes darting over his face, "Because I'm Head Girl and I need to set an example." She turned back to the books, indicating she was done the discussion.

Draco pushed on, "No, I don't think that's it. Do you know…do you know what's going on with me?"

Hermione shook her head, "Only that you haven't called me that name for years and that you've stayed out of my way. I've just been thinking that maybe you're growing up and I felt the need to grow up with you." She shrugged, "Plus, I noticed you haven't been looking or acting like yourself. You haven't been eating much and your grades are really plunging. You haven't even bothered Harry or Ron for weeks. I'm beginning to think you're renounced…you know what…and I guess I think that is enough reason to be nice."

He took a step closer to her, "If I had known you were like this all these years…I never would have treated you the way I did." Draco kissed her very quickly on the cheek and she blushed furiously before going back on the hunt for the one book.

As she searched, she kept one eye locked on him. He looked different to her, not in the conventional way. Yes, he looked pale, sunken in and nearly dead…but he also had a warm, virtuous glow about him that made her smile to herself and wonder; she wondered if maybe she'd be right about him all along.

Maybe he wasn't what he seemed to be at all; maybe he was like her.

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A/N: The next chapter will be up really soon. Join my yahoo group for up to the minute updates.


	3. The Ticking of the Clock

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Breathing In Mortality

03. The Ticking of the Clock

"Confusion never stops

Closing walls and ticking clocks  
Come back and take you home

I could not stop, that you now know  
Come out upon my seas

Curse missed opportunities  
A part of the cure

Or am I part of the disease  
You are  
And nothing else compares"

-Coldplay, "Clocks" / album: A Rush of Blood to the Head

Draco sat in the library as minutes ticked by as days; he had lost his perception of time. This was something he'd trained himself to do…it wouldn't be any good to sit watching a clock so that you knew, to the exact millisecond, when you were going to kick the proverbial bucket.

As suspected, no one bothered him; it was almost as if he existed all on his own, in his own world where he was invisible. He liked the anonymity of it all, it made him feel powerful even when he felt like the weakest being on the earth.

Draco's hand hit the deep mahogany wood with a harsh thump and he flipped the book closed in frustration. There were no answers.

How could it be, in this world, in this age, that there were no answers to something so seemingly simple?

It wasn't fun for a male, particularly one of Malfoy heritage, to feel so out of control. His life was spinning around him, whirling in tornados and kicking his idiocy in the arse.

  
There was no alternative, he knew it…he just hadn't really accepted it yet.

With a heavy sigh, and an even heavier heart, Draco exited the library just as the moon was brightening in the darkened sky.

Cursing under his breath and snuggling deeper into his suddenly paper-thin and flimsy wizard robe, he stepped out into the night. He suddenly felt so alone, as if no one gave a damn what happened to him. Did anyone really, truly care what was to come of Draco Malfoy? 

The answer, he knew, was not in the affirmative. He didn't have any true friends, he had only true enemies. 

Actually, when he thought about it, his enemies might feel bad when he finally left this awful planet. Precious Potter and Woeful Weasley were bound to be grief-stricken when the news of his death hits their valuable ear drums. After all, if Draco were gone who would they terrorize? 

Draco kicked some dirt as he walked, just for pure spite. The lake glistened with moonbeams and stars' reflections; he suddenly hated the world and everything in it. It would be good to be gone, really. He had no one. Who wants to live life all by yourself? Not even Draco Malfoy wanted that. 

He plopped angrily down beside the lake and threw some grass blades onto the waters surface. They rippled the calm just barely and Draco rested his chin on his knees, watching and waiting; for what, he didn't know. Feeling sorry for yourself is a Malfoy trait…it also tends to be a male trait. So he had two strikes against him. 

"I hate this fucking place." He shook his head furiously. "I hate it so fucking much. I might as well just freaking kill myself and head this blasted thing off. At least I won't suffer." 

"I don't honestly think that will solve anything," declared a soft voice across the banking. 

Draco's head snapped toward the voice and his hard facial features softened at the angelic sight of her.   
Hermione sat, cross-legged, with the moon's glow illuminating her every feature from the background. Her hair was swept off her face into a messy bun and she wore a flowing white night dress that really looked wonderful on her, Draco was sad to notice. He would never have admitted something like that aloud, but just to think it was quite enough in his opinion.

"Why's that?" He demanded shrilly, picking his head off his knees to stare her in the eye.

She didn't break eye contact, her brown eyes were locked on his; she wasn't going to back down. She didn't seem scared of him like she used to be. Draco fleetingly wondered why that was. "Because," she said reasonably, "Then you're just letting it win. You're letting it decide your fate for you. Life, I believe, is predestined…but that doesn't mean you can't change your destiny, Draco."

"Oh, so I can?" He challenged, his voice holding such an angry edge that it scared him. He didn't realize he had so much hatred built up inside him. Before she spoke, he decided that this hatred had been boiling inside him for years, it had just taken this time to come to the surface and flow over his every emotion.

Hermione's lips curled into an ever-so-slight smile and she looked into the lake, brushing her fingertips against the water and watching as they created tiny little waves on the surface. "I don't know for sure, Draco, but I do know that you can't just give up. No matter how hopeless something seems, you can't give up. You have to fight. I know you have fight in you, I've witnessed it first hand," she laughed quietly as if reminiscing, "You're so strong, Draco…don't you know that?"

Draco scoffed and stood up, "I'm not strong. I'm a fucking baby. I mean, look at me!" He threw his arms out to his sides, "I'm dying of a SNOGGING disease!"

Hermione remained calm, her eyes stuck on his, "You're not dying of a snogging disease. It's a case of the snogging disease, it isn't the snogging disease itself."  
  
"What's the fucking difference?" He stipulated, his voice higher than needed.

Her shoulders went up slowly and then she exhaled, bringing them back down to position, "I don't know."

"That's a first," he retorted, instantly regretting how pissed off he was acting towards her. His voice lost its edge and he stepped to the side of the lake, approaching her. "I'm sorry, Hermione. I didn't mean--"  
  
"It's okay. You have reason to be angry…just not with me." She smiled, "I saw this Muggle movie once. Called 'A Walk to Remember.' In it, the girl was dying of cancer. She said 'I don't need a reason to be angry with God' to her boyfriend. I loved that line. I don't know why."

"Probably because it's true," Draco replied softly, taking a few more steps towards her. Hermione stopped watching him come towards her and looked into the lake once more instead. "I am angry with God. I hate that this is happening. I had a lot to live for…I HAVE a lot to live for. I don't want my life cut short."  
  
Hermione looked up at him, tears glistening her eyes, "I don't either."

Draco took the final step that took him directly above her. She didn't move, but sat immobile below him, watching the peaceful water. He put a gentle hand on her shoulder and suddenly she was gone like a bubble is gone when you burst them.

Draco's head snapped up from the book, he was breathing heavily and erratically. He looked around him as his eyes adjusted to his surroundings. He was still in the library, he must have dozed off.  


The dream had been so real, he could feel the cool breeze of the evening air brushing against his face. He could see the ripples plainly in the water; could feel the want to touch Hermione, to bring her into arms and never let go.

Standing angrily from the table, his chair feel to the ground with a loud clang that echoed around the large room. He sighed heavily, "What else!? HUH? What else do I fucking need." 

  
Draco gathered up his books and set them by the table near the Restricted Section so that Madame Pince could set them back in the morning.   
  
Making his ears and eyes go onto high alert, he listened for approaching footsteps that didn't exist. Quietly, and with much stealth, he exited the library and padded down the stairs to the main entrance hall.

As he pushed open the heavy oak doors, her words reverberated in his brain. "I don't either."

Dreams, Draco knew, had meaning pertaining to everyday life. He vowed to look more into his once he got back to the Manor. His relationship with Hermione, friend or otherwise, would not be ending on a sour note, he'd make sure of that.

When Hermione got up and dressed the following morning, there was an owl perched on her windowsill patiently as if it had been highly trained.

She carefully slipped the note off the owl's foot and it took flight into the early morning sunshine.

  
Hermione, perplexed, unraveled the parchment.

__

Hermione-

Meet me in the Library this evening directly after dinner. Please.

-Draco

Hermione had no idea what to make of this, and even less of an idea whether or not she'd go. What was going on with Draco?

She was known for her intelligence and it did not let her down as she walked stiffly to the Great Hall for breakfast.

Draco…all the questions…the kindness…the request…the paleness…the missed classes…the doctor visit…the books…the fountain of life…  
  
Hermione put a hand to her mouth just as she reached the bottom stair, "Oh my, God," she whispered to herself, "Draco must be dying."

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A/N: Sorry that was so short! I promise to make the next chapter longer!!

Thanks to everyone who's reviewed so far!!!!!!


	4. The Lifeline Grows Thin

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Breathing In Mortality

04. The Lifeline Grows Thin

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"If you won't be alive when I need you the most

Not to say that I won't grieve a little when you pass away

You can find a place and start thinking about it

When every second is the right time

The pain will go away

You won't believe but it's true

Just count the inches on your lifeline"

Anthenaeum, "Lifeline" / album: Radiance

Draco paced the back of the library as he waited. He had not seen any other Hogwarts students in his year, besides Hermione, and he wanted to keep it that way. The rest of the students were better off in blissful ignorance. Or just ignorance, in some cases. 

He was worried she wouldn't show. He was worried she would think differently of him when he told her. He was worried he'd feel sympathy towards him.

As far as he was concerned, the only thing he deserved was a fair chance to make things right. He wanted to make up for his life full of bubbling hatred. If Hermione wouldn't see him, or speak to him, he figured that he deserved it, for always being so rude to her. Even if, deep down, he'd only been doing it to cover up for his true feelings.  
  
No matter what he was feeling inside, he swore to himself to keep his distance from her. He refused to tell her how he felt, or even be more nice to her than required. It would be suspicious, after all. The last thing he needed now was pity; from anyone.

The library door swung open, its hinges creaking; Draco heard light steps on the wooden floor approaching him. He stepped out from behind a particularly high bookshelf and found himself sprawled on his back, books scattered all over the place.

It seemed that Hermione had been carrying a rather copious amount of books, which had come loose from her arms when she'd collided with Draco.

"Need glasses?" He muttered, rubbing his hip; the disease seemed to make his already fragile body more tender.

Hermione brushed hair off her shoulder as she bent, scooping the books into a neat pile on a nearby chair. "You're the one who came out from behind a bookshelf and ran into me!"

She gave a quick glance to the front of the library, realizing her voice was louder than allowed. She'd been researching diseases with Draco's symptoms ever since she had, overly dramatically in her opinion, come to the conclusion that he was dying. She had to make sure she was right in assuming he had Snogishtiley; after pouring over several old wizarding medical books, she found out that she was, indeed, correct. On her way to the library, already at least an hour late as dinner had ended a long while ago, she had decided to be cordial to him. However, after this new display of rudeness, her vow flew out the window.

Hermione sighed heavily and plopped into a seat beside her pile of books; Draco took the seat across from her.

"I have something I need to tell you. Now this is a SECRET, Granger, therefore that means you don't go blabbing to anyone about it. Even Potter or Weasley. This is my business and I don't want it all over school. I don't need a pity party."

"I highly doubt you'd get one," Hermione snapped before she could stop herself. Her thin hand went up to cover her mouth, but Draco looked merely amused at her comment.

"Fair as that may be…let's not get into it. I asked you here to help me. That, in itself, is a very hard thing for me to do, as you probably know. It'd be no harder if Potter asked the Dark Lord to teach him Avada Kedavra."  
  
"Harry wouldn't ask, he would learn himself," Hermione replied, almost lazily.

"Whatever, Granger, are you going to help me?"  
  
"If you're civil."

Draco smiled sideways at her, "When I have ever not been civil?"  
  
"Since you were born, I'd imagine."

"You know, there is no one else in this universe who can swap quips and insults with me as well as you."  
  
Hermione chuckled slightly, surprised that such a sound had come from her mouth with him around, "That was almost a backhanded compliment."  
  
"I assure you I meant it as such."

"What's gotten into you?" Hermione questioned rhetorically.

"A rare disease that has enabled me to die very, amazingly young."

Though Hermione knew this to be true, she couldn't help it when the corners of her lips pulled into a smile, "This reminds me of a very bad Muggle teen soap opera."  
  
"I've been to the opera, and I guarantee there was no soap. It might have been more fun had there been. They're dreadfully boring."

"I rather like them," Hermione replied, resting her chin on her hand and gazing at him benignly.

"Can we be serious for a moment?" Draco requested, not waiting for an answer, "I need you to help me find the cure for Snogishtiley."

Hermione brought her head up and stared at him, her eyes boring into his, "If you have acute Snogishtiley, there is no known cure. I told you that."  
  
"Yes, when I pretended it was for an essay for detention. I need the truth, now. This is my life on the line." He took a deep breath, "Please, Hermione, you're the only one I know who can help me."  
  
"I'm sure you hired all the best doctors. What could I do?"

"You know as well as I that the doctors won't really try, they hate my family. Everybody hates my family."  
  
Hermione looked perplexed, "Why am I different?"  
  
Something flickered in Draco's eyes, but Hermione didn't know what it was, "You're like me. You like to know everything. This is a challenge. We can try to beat the system, the disease. We can cheat God, Hermione. It'll be amazing. And I know you'll do anything to help a fellow human being. Even if he doesn't deserve it."

She didn't pretend like any of this was false information, she was mulling over his complete change in attitude. One minute he was throwing biting remarks at her, the next he was gazing lovingly into her eyes and the next he was even being kind.

"You can't cheat God," she said after a minute of silence.

Draco flopped back into his seat and opened his mouth to speak, but she held out a hand to stop him.

"If He meant for something to happen, it'll happen. Therefore, if you're meant to die, you will---" she swallowed hard and blinked, "---if you're not, then you won't."

"I can't do this alone," Draco said, sounding choked. "I can't beat this without you. I need your help."  
  
"What are you going to do?" Hermione asked, shaking her head, "I don't know what you could possibly do."  
  
"I'm going to find the Fountain of Life…and I'm going to drink from it."

"Draco, that's mad---"  
  
"Is it?" He asked, an odd glint in his eyes. She cocked her head to the side and slid a piece of hair behind her ear, pondering what was going on. "It exists, Hermione, I know it does. Come with me, we'll leave the castle tonight, travel by broomstick…we'll go all over the world searching for it. It's bound to turn up somewhere."  
  
"You don't have that much time," she said quietly.

Draco cleared his throat, glanced around them and leaned towards her, looking serious, "Do you know where it is?"

Hermione opened a book entitled "Rare Diseases and Their Cures"; she flipped mutely through the pages until she stopped on one headed with the title, "Vervacity: The Fountain of Life." She turned the book so that it was upside down to her, and she put her finger on a single word:

Ireland.

Draco looked from the book to her and back again, "Hermione---" he swallowed and took a deep breath, "Will you help me?"

Hermione saw something in him just then, a flicker of hope, a glimmer of goodness, a second of purity. Draco was not the person she thought he was; she had a completely distorted idea of who he really was. She knew, then, that she didn't want him to die…and she knew she'd have the help in order to save the life of her adversary.

When she spoke, her voice was a stifled whisper, "Yes. I'll help you."


End file.
